


L

by WahlBuilder



Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff and Angst, Holidays, M/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Viktor is invited by Anton to a restaurant, to Viktor's puzzlement. As usual, it doesn't go as he expects.





	L

Viktor’s steps echo through the surprisingly empty hall. Tables are pushed to the side, and there is a lone lantern on one of them, near something covered with a cloche. The light of the lantern is multiplied in floor to ceiling mirrors. They cover all the walls. Viktor stops, looking in one of the mirrors, his figure a dark outline. A nightmare visitor.

He looks away.

He knows the venue: _The Stray_ is a fairly prestigious place frequented by the Comedians and the related sort. It is one of the Vory’s legal venues, along with the Arena, two corner street food eateries, and a couple other places.

He hasn’t been here before, although he has seen pics: mirrors on the ceiling and walls (on certain nights even covering the floor) are the signature characteristic of the place — along with, if reports are to be believed, a good selection of live musical entertainment provided.

His multiplied reflections make him press his lips tight.

He doesn’t want to be away from the headquarters this night — in case of any emergency — even though the silent walls have been closing in on him. He suspects that the invitation that has come only half an hour ago, has been designed to unsettle him with its immediacy.

Viktor isn’t sure why he’s here, of all places, why Anton would close it off while he could have been turning grand profits, or overlooking operations, or…

Viktor looks towards the stage. The backdrop is, too, a giant seamless mirror — now a black void except for the lantern light and the doubled figure of Anton moving around some tall box.

Viktor’s breath stutters, and he clenches his fists until the gloves nearly burst at the seams— No. It is just that Anton is wearing a white shirt, and the mirror behind him reflects him. Just that. Not a nightmare.

Viktor rolls his shoulders. “Mr. Rogue.”

“I think I asked you to not call me that, Colonel Watcher,” Anton calls back, stops whatever he’s been doing and looks at Viktor.

He stands at parade rest, locks his hands tight behind his back. He _wants_ it to be between “Mr. Rogue” and “Colonel Watcher” — even though, strictly speaking, the latter should be detaining the former. For example, on the grounds of Anton Rogue being in the venue that legally doesn’t belong to him, after dark. Though Viktor himself can see the glaring weakness of this claim. Anton can tell him he has booked the restaurant for the whole night.

“Why have you called me here? I have things to do.”

“No, you don’t. There are no pressing matters in your schedule,” Anton replies. He has an irritating grin, clearly heard in his tone, and paranoia grips Viktor’s guts tight. He needs to get back to the headquarters and check whether the infonet has been compromised. Can it be that Anton has access to the internal messaging system? Knows all his comings and goings, his plans, meetings, official and otherwise, his—

“Could you shut off the ‘paranoid bastard’ mode for a couple of hours, please?”

Viktor resumes his stance. Blinks.

Anton isn’t wearing the black jacket, and there is no tie either, and his pants are fancier than the usual sturdy leather, and there are shoes instead of boots.

“What is this about?” He has no time. He has to stay awake the whole night, and he hasn’t slept nights before either. He keeps his posture proper, however.

Anton’s mouth twists. Viktor tells himself that he is sleep-deprived, and this factor causes his attention to be drawn to that small twist.

Anton cocks his head to the right shoulder, then to the left. “Do you always wear this armor?”

The answer to this question is known to Anton — like answers to many other questions that people wouldn’t even think to ask about Colonel Viktor Watcher or Director Viktor Watcher. Anton asks them, and asks questions about ~~Vitya~~ _Vik_ , too, and looks for answers, threatens, blackmails for them if needed.

Viktor develops new things for Anton to ask about. He doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if he runs out of things for Anton to ask about.

He wonders if there’s anything left unanswered.

“Why do I have to take it off now?” he asks instead of a reply.

Anton sighs, looks away. Viktor clasps his hands tighter together. Is this it? Anton Rogue losing interest? The last—

“Because it might be uncomfortable. And knowing you, you’ve been wearing it for a couple of days at least. It’s not good for you.”

Viktor’s mind stumbles over _‘knowing you’_ , even as his mouth shapes, “It is for protection.”

“Whose?” Anton moves back to the tall box before Viktor can puzzle out the answer.

A gentle rustling sound, like flowing sand, fills the hall — and then a few trills scatter among the mirrors, give way to low, gentle strings. A voice hums the melody along with them before forming words…

Anton gets off the scene then walks to Viktor. “Потанцуй со мной, Витя.”

He raises a brow, considers a biting response… But Anton is standing in front of him with his face open, so vulnerable without the black jacket, so close, so…

Viktor asks questions, too, and knows so many answers.

The singer’s voice is weaving a cocoon around them.

Anton holds up a hand, shifts from foot to foot. “I’ll teach you.”

Viktor tights the lock of his hands behind his back — then breaks it and puts a hand in Anton’s. “All right.”

The first steps are clumsy, but Anton seems to be determined to draw him into the flow of this dance. It feels like a continuous song is sung, something about love and lies — but Viktor’s whole attention is on Anton, his hands. He _can’t_ feel their dry warmth through his gloves, his jacket, his armor.

He steps onto Anton’s foot, and Anton hisses, breaks away. “Fuck, fuck, не думал, что так сложно тебя научить, good in a fight, but apparently can’t dance, unbe _lievable_ …”

Viktor laughs. He never could laugh any way other than breathlessly, soundlessly, and his ribs hurt under the constraints of the armor — but Anton’s face has that naked expression that makes something soft, something light in Viktor’s cold chest flare. “You should see yourself.” He steps away, still helplessly breaking into laughs now and then, undoing the fasteners on the gloves, tugging them off, moves to the clasps on the jacket, shrugs it off, throws it on one of the tables, undoes the armor…

Warm hands come round to help him, and now, he _can_ feel them, splaying over his ribs, and the material of the turtleneck does little to prevent the warmth from seeping into Vik’s skin. He covers Anton’s hands briefly with his — then takes them and turns to face him. He can’t not smile. “I _know_ how to dance, Tosha.”

And before Anton’s face folds in dismay, Vik pulls him into the space in front of the stage, letting the music and the singer’s voice guide him, letting their bodies align, like during fights they fought back to back, covering for each other.

They dance until both of them are out of breath, and they stop among the mirrors, pressed to each other. Tosha is short and broad, and Vik is tall and thin, and they fit so well. Vik looks into Tosha’s eyes.

And Tosha smiles a beautiful, beautiful smile. “Happy New Year, Vitya.”

Vik laughs and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> “Потанцуй со мной, Витя.” — “Dance with me, Vitya.”  
> “...не думал, что так сложно тебя научить...” — “...didn't think it would be so difficult to teach you...”  
> (A thing I find important to note: Anton uses “T” forms (akin to the French _tu_ ) when talking to Vik, informal and intimate.)  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Short Garbage Goblin has come to collect his Tall Trash Man again!
> 
> I imagined Vitya laughing (a genuine laugh), and I was all _Heart Eyes, Motherfucker_. This is so OOC, I know.
> 
> Are they dancing to, among other things, Melody Gardot's _[If I Tell You I Love You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BanLboHpj1k)_? Maybe! ;)


End file.
